


Feast

by mother_hearted



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Fantasy, Master/Servant, Vampire Fetishism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:14:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_hearted/pseuds/mother_hearted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A castle, beautiful men, and collars around their beautiful necks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feast

They'll wear red contacts and have thick leather collars on their necks, placed just low enough for her to imagine the little puncture wounds that would be hidden from sight. They would don gloves that would match the creamy white of their undershirts, covered with vests buttoned up tight.

There won't be a hair out of place unless she rips it from their heads herself.

The mornings in the castle will be dark, curtains draped over windows, tied together with silk bows. Candle light and lanterns will flood each room and hall, her eyes will be greeted to a majestic flame of orange and red when it is time to start her day. She will sit in front of her mirror, table top littered with supplies. They will prepare her hair, apply her make-up, while one rests beneath her feet, crouched low like a maggot while her heels rest on the small of his back.

They will taste her food, staining their gloves red from berries and wine.

When she goes for a walk in the gardens they will offer themselves over puddles of mud, her boots stepping into their soft bellies. They will swallow their groans and grunts of pain behind gritted teeth - and if so much of a speck of mud appears on her boots? She'll grab him by the back of the head, nails digging into his scalp, holding him in place as he licks it clean.

For the poor ones who disobey her, she'll set them aside as entertainment for dinner. Strip them of their collars, their gloves, watch them kneel on the floor helpless as they're surrounded by her most loyal of servants.

She will say _feast_ and they will swarm, biting and biting until not an inch of flesh is spared an angry swollen red. She closes her eyes, hears the screams, the snap of skin breaking, imagines them drinking the blood, smearing their mouths a deep red, lips dripping blood onto the floor and the poor bastard getting a taste when his face is shoved to the cold stone.


End file.
